* * * * *
There was no going fast to-day along this country road. The frosts and
the thaws had made of it a very way of sorrows. Here in the harder parts
was a tumble of ridges and holes, with edges as hard as steel; here in
the softer, the faggots laid to build it up were broken or rotted
through, making it no better than a trap for horses' feet; and it was a
full hour before Robin finished his four miles and turned up through the
winter woodland to the yeoman's farm where he was to meet Anthony. It
was true, as he had said to Mr. Barton, that they were to speak of a
matter of tithe--this was to be their excuse if his father questioned
him--for there was a doubt as to in which parish stood this farm, for
the yeoman tilled three meadows that were in the Babington estate and
two in Matstead.
As he came up the broken ground on to the crest of the hill, he saw
Anthony come out of the yard-gate and the yeoman with him. Then Anthony
mounted his horse and rode down towards him, bidding the man stay, over
his shoulder.
"It is all plain enough," shouted Anthony loud enough for the man to
hear. "It is Dethick that must pay. You need not come up, Robin; we must
do the paying."
Robin checked his mare and waited till the other came near enough to
speak.
"Young Thomas FitzHerbert is within. He is riding round his new
estates," said the other beneath his breath. "I thought I would come out
and tell you; and I do not know where we can talk or dine.
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